


I don't mind, if you don't mind

by flightofcuriosity



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Dragon AU, M/M, Newt is nonbinary, Trans Hermann Gottlieb, Trans Newton Geiszler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightofcuriosity/pseuds/flightofcuriosity
Summary: Hermann Gottlieb doesn't really understand what his colleague Newton sees in rehabilitating dangerous creatures, but it fascinates him nonetheless.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	I don't mind, if you don't mind

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: pseudoscience ahead; absolute fluff ahead; minor angst. Family drama mentioned (implied transphobia). Burn injury. 
> 
> I wrote this and posted it to tumblr two years ago, but am gonna start posting fic here instead!! So in the interest of respecting my past self's craft, I will be doing minimal editing only (grammar, some pronoun slip ups). 
> 
> Some context. Newt and Hermann are both trans (i don’t make the rules). Because I was lazy and wanted to make the dragons good and dragon hunting knights bad, the Jaeger program is now a corrupt org and implied to be the bad guys. Rest assured that the good guys from PacRim aren’t a part of it any more. Sorry to my giant robot lovers. If it’s any consolation i picture them more as classic knights. Like… Jocks. wait that’s what the jaegers already are :P

Hermann Gottlieb was a physicist and an astronomer. He knew his way around the stars, their cold lights comforting him on the nights he could not shake the thought of his family; kept at a distance these past ten years. He felt a peace that he had never felt in his father’s Lutheran church when he followed a calculation to its logical conclusion. Yes, the universe was full of unknowns, but at least they could be quantified. His friend — no, colleague — Newton’s job was… unquantifiable, and it made him nervous. And yet, each day that the chronic pain in his hip and knee allowed him to, after Newton had left the laboratory they shared in the mornings to go check on their… creatures, Hermann would make the trek up to a hill close to the Sanctuary.

Sometimes, there was nothing to see. Hermann would settle down onto the wooden bench, his cane leaning against the armrest, do a crossword puzzle, eat his lunch (a somewhat dry rye-bread sandwich with whatever vegetables he had in his kitchen in the morning), and head back to the laboratory. But some days, the creatures Newton cared for — and of which he was fiercely protective towards the authorities that sponsored his research — would fly. And despite Hermann’s distrust of the creatures (even knowing that his fear was rooted in centuries of violence enacted against them, and that it was now known that most only attacked to defend), he couldn’t deny that Newton’s dragons were beautiful. The wards surrounding the medieval castle and mountain face that contained the Sanctuary kept the monsters — no, creatures — from flying far afield, but as they wheeled and swooped in on the air currents, Hermann was, as he seemed to be so frequently these days, consumed by a moment of self-doubt.

Coming out of his first university degree, Hermann had been tasked with the building of sustainable armour and weaponry of the Jaeger Corps, an elite army of monster hunters. In those early days, griffins, sphinxes, and, yes, dragons fell under the swift arm of the Corps. At the time, it had been necessary, as a gang of ruthless dragons with clear malevolent intent had been razing cities across northern Europe; stealing livestock and taking thousands of lives. But Hermann knew that the Jaegers were taking out more than just hostile agents of the so-called Supernatural Dimension (how could anything that exists in the natural world be supernatural? But Hermann’s proposals for alternate categorisations of the dimensions beyond their own had not be mainstreamed....yet). The Hunt became a sport, and the sport gathered spectators. It sickened Hermann to see the casual violence that the Jaegers and their followers had turned to, fifteen years after the Green Monster event. His work on weapons and armour had been indispensable then; but now… He had withdrawn to the theoretical. The implications of his work were incomprehensible to most — especially the boneheads that had led the corps for the last ten years. But not to Newton.

Hermann stayed out on the hill a little bit longer than usual that day, thinking about his work and the events that lead him to break with his father and his sycophants twelve years ago. A complex and bitter mix of the personal and the professional — taking his mother’s father’s name; filing complaint after complaint over the misuse of his ideas and experimental work; continuing to colour his nails when the mood took him (“if you want to be a man, son, you’ve got to be a man!”); breaking up his formulas into complex bits of information so that only he would know how to forge the tools he was asked to make; silent candle-lit dinners at the long table, his sister sadly looking from her father to her sibling, as if trying to reconcile the idea of her family when she was a little girl with the mess that it was now. She had always been the favourite, strong and athletic, and clever enough to stand out, without being an outsider like Hermann. She could not understand that their family had always been a mess. Taking a sledgehammer to the Mark 2 suits of armour; wiping out a year of research and development, the dishonourable discharge. Applying for that doctorate in interdimensional astronomy. His father and his sister absent on the day he graduated.

Newton was already back in the lab, wiping something sticky off of their glasses, glancing up at Hermann with a slight squint and a grin that said they had for once wound up their watch accurately.

“Have you been skiving off, Herms?” Hermann flushed slightly, frustrated at the effect the grin had on his internal organs — another unquantifiable aspect of his colleague. He marched stiffly to his desk, plopping down on the adjusted chair and pulling up his notebook and the journal he had been reading before taking his lunch break.

“The five minutes I am running late are nothing to the sum of the hours you have missed every morning since I’ve gotten here, Newton.”

“You wound me, Hermann! I thought we were finally on the same team, but I suppose I must be mistaken.”

“We have always been on the same team, Newton. It’s why we are working in this laboratory together.” Newton scoffed.

“You’re running calculations trying to predict the future based on the alignment of the stars; I’m trying to save dragons. You understand why I fail to see the relation.”

“I’m hardly predicting the future, Newton,” Hermann was barely paying attention; their banter a familiar backdrop to his work.

“Oh I’m sorry, calculating the statistical probability that the Rift will open and we’ll be able to go in and kill the monsters at their source. I should have made my point plainer.” Newton’s retort felt sharper than usual, and stung in ways Hermann did not want to consider that day. However, the delivery was somewhat offset by the fact that at that precise moment, they slipped on something that looked suspiciously like a broken vial of dragon blood. This was confirmed by their following actions: kicking off their shoe and sending it flying across the room, before hopping on one foot to the sink, where they ran the tap on hot water. Curiously (or perhaps not curious at all), Newton had been the first biologist to discover the properties of hot water in healing dragon burns. Hermann sighed, and went to the shelf by the door to their laboratory, where he knew Newton kept a stock of bandages, ointments, creams and salves of their own design. On his way, he used his cane to push the slightly smoking shoe back over the chalk line that marked the border between their parts of the laboratory.

Newt snapped their fingers to distract themself from the sting of the burn. “Shoulda cleaned that up this morning,” they thought. Or maybe said.

“You spilled it yesterday,” Hermann replied, confirming that Newt had, in fact, voiced their thought out loud. They hadn’t noticed their colleague coming over, busy cutting off the bottom of their sock.

“What do you know about what I do with my lab,” Newt said, with a bit more snark than was necessary considering that Hermann was holding the correct pot for blood burns. Luckily, he didn’t seem perturbed by Newt’s reaction; eyebrows knit together as he quietly waited the requisite ten minutes of rinsing the burn, reading the ingredients listed in Newt’s scratchy cursive on the bottom of the container.

“Come sit down on my side of the lab,” he invited, pushing the bandages and cream into Newt’s hand and holding out his now free arm to lean on. Newt suppressed the urge to roll their eyes. It was true that their side was now covered in contaminant and not a great place to put a bare foot down; and they weren’t going to complain about Hermann’s uncharacteristic friendliness — or at least, lack of meanness. They had long convinced that Hermann was bitter about being stuffed down here in this nondescript laboratory in a back corner of the university, poorly funded and sharing his space with a zoologist of all things — Newt had met several of those hard science types who scoffed at their degrees.

“Sit down, Newton,” Hermann gave them a poke in the arm, before sitting back in his desk chair. When Newt sat down in the spare chair Hermann had just cleared of stacks of neatly labeled papers, Hermann gestured for them to put their foot up.

“I have followed the university first aid course and have taken the liberty of watching you do this in the past. I think it will be easier for me to reach than for you…” Newt shrugged; their foot was now throbbing and they could feel the burnt tissue starting to swell a little. They raised their leg onto the table. Hermann rolled his eyes and pulled it forward onto his healthy leg, efficiently applying cream to the wound. Newt bit their lip to hold back a gasp of pain, and then a hum of relief as the salve did its work. Opening their eyes, they met Hermann’s gaze. He nodded, as if confirming something to himself (what it was, Newt would never figure out, the guy was a closed book), before turning back to the injury. Suddenly, Newt picked up on what he’d said earlier. Hermann paid attention to Newt’s lab work? Or at least…Lab accidents? He always seemed so aloof. And mean. But here he was, helping fix up this mess that was entirely their own making. Lost down this train of thought, Newt almost missed when he started talking again, in a low even voice — nothing like how he spoke in their bitter arguments.

“Newton…I hope you know that when I have understood how the Rift between our world and the… world of your dragons works, I will not be disclosing that information to the Jaeger Corps. Or the university. I have my suspicions about the ties between the two.” This surprised Newt - though they knew that Hermann had parted from the Jaegers on bad terms, not disclosing to the university could affect his funding. Well, funding. They were sharing a lab after all, so perhaps there was not as much interest in his work as Newt imagined. They would rather die than admit it, but Hermann’s work was cool. And important. It made them sad to think that others couldn’t understand it. Newt tried to work out the expression on Hermann’s face — as his lips curled upwards slightly, they guessed he was reacting to some kind of inside joke. They ran a hand through their beard, wondering what to make of this news, watching Hermann wrapping up their foot. It seemed that Hermann did not want to meet their gaze, so instead Newt focused on his hands.

“Oh hey, we match!” They exclaimed, waggling their blue nails at Hermann. “I definitely didn’t peg you for a pinks guy.” Hermann raised his eyebrows and shot Newt an unreadable look that they couldn’t quite decipher, but made them blush anyway.

“Is it my otherwise more conservative exterior that had you convinced I would wear black nail polish, or is it the fact that I, unlike you, usually don’t cover my notes in pink sharpie?” Newt was about to give a sharp retort, but —

“Doctor Hermann Gottlieb, was that a joke?” Hermann looked up quizically, and Newt felt their heart thud against their gut. They sighed — it’s hard to hate someone who is just that cute.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that, Newton”.

“It’s nothing, dude.” Hermann looked concerned.

“Are you sure? Is it too tight? How’s the pain? Do you think you can stand on it?” In all their weird feelings, Newt had almost forgotten why they were there, talking civilly to their normally recalcitrant lab partner.

“Oh yeah, no worries, man.” Hermann gave a tentative smile, and they added,

“Thanks for your help. And, um… I’m sorry I implied you were working for the Jaegers. I know you hate those fascists.” Hermann snorted at that, and covered his mouth with a pink-nailed hand. How many times had Newt been distracted by those fingers scribbling away on one of the large blackboards behind them? If they were being honest with themself, they had been way into Hermann since the moment he stepped through the door; wide-eyed and disgusted by a jar of dragon brains that was bubbling away on what would be his desk. Nevertheless, he had bravely held out a hand - meticulous manicure, but no nail polish back then.

“Doctor Newton Geizsler, I presume?”

Hermann had read up on his colleague’s work before entering the lab; hoping they could start on good terms. His hopes had been somewhat dampened when he learned that Dr Geizsler was something of a dragon groupie… who would certainly know of his involvement in the Jaeger Corps. Going back through an impressive list of doctorate degrees and papers co-authored by some of the biggest names in the field of Supernatural Dimensions, Hermann had expected someone older and more distinguished than the person who looked at the proffered hand, back up to his face, gestured that their own hand was in fact covered in some kind of goo, and did not let that stop them from picking up the heavy brain container and moving it to a different corner of the lab. They threw a bucket of hot water over the desk, which was starting to smoulder. Then they pulled the goggles and face mask that had been resting on the back of their head over their face and buried themself back into the specimen they were working on. Muffled by the mask, Hermann could just make out their voice: “Call me Newt! Only my mother calls me doctor!”

In almost nine years of working together, this had been the first time Newton brought up the Jaeger Corps in relation to the work they were both doing at the lab. While Newt was the kind of person who wore their politics pinned to their faux-leather sleeve (“gender is NOT for rockstars”, “i’m the red your mother warned you about”, "Down with the Jaeger-Industrial Complex”), they had always found plenty more mundane things to jibe their colleague with; and Hermann had been grateful. Which must have explained why he felt more concerned than upset that Newton brought it up now.

Soon Newton was back on their feet and wearing thick dragon hide slippers (“Can you believe these absolute units shed their skin only once every seven years? Of course I needed slippers — it’s the only material that’s completely impervious to dragons’ acidic fluids!”), trying to clean up the mess they’d stepped in. Hermann tried to concentrate on the paper he had been reading. Its reasoning was flawed, its methods irreproducible, and the conclusions drawn based on what the authors wanted to see, rather than their actual results. He tossed it into his paper waste bin, resisting the urge to aim it at the last flecks of flammable dragon blood. He had missed a last page of spotty references; and on an impulse, crumpled it up and took aim.

“Ow!” Newton looked in disbelief at that paper ball that had hit their head and was now slowly burning to a crisp in the last bit of dragon blood. Their expression when they turned to Hermann was priceless, and for the second time that day, Hermann found himself suppressing a giggle.

“Was that for anything?”

“I misjudged the distance; though it was quite satisfying to watch, I must admit,” Hermann tried to deadpan, and looked away to keep himself from laughing again. A wad of Newton’s patented fireproof paper neatly caught his ear.

“Hey! That was intentional wasn’t it?” He got up as if to make some kind of threatening gesture, but Newt’s bright grin stopped him in his tracks.

“What’s up, dude?” Newton was an open book, and this book was surprised to not get a response to their clear provocation. And beneath the surface, an emotion that Hermann had been noticing all day — anxiety. He sat back down again.

“I could ask you the same thing. Am I right in thinking… or rather… you seem…” Hermann, as always, struggled to find the words he was looking for.

“Your comment earlier indicated that perhaps the Jaeger Corps’ renewed interest in science has taken you unawares.” Newton stood stock still for a moment. Hermann realised that for all the hours they had wasted bickering in this lab, never once had he thought to ask them sincerely how they were doing. He decided to rectify that situation. “Are you alright?”

At that, Newton sighed and deflated, shuffled over to him on his home-made slippers and opened up their arms.

“Would it be okay if I asked you for a hug?” Hermann’s next action was automatic, childhood muscle memory. He tried to remember the last time he had hugged someone, like this, for comfort. He was not, generally speaking, a hugger. But Newton tucked their head into the nook between Hermann’s neck and his shoulder, and Hermann wrapped his arm around their broad back, rubbing circles between their shoulder blades, as his mother had used to comfort him, and he had comforted his sister, many times, so many years ago.

“Is this alright?” Hermann’s throat felt unusually tight. Newton nodded, and they stood there for a few moments. Hermann felt like a fish out of water, and somewhat light-headed. Newton was hardly his type. Hermann didn’t go for beards; he preferred people who were more conscious of what they wore (Newt: his jacket over a crumpled button down, a tie loosely strung around his neck and jeans that were definitely too casual to be business casual…and dragon hide slippers to complete the look), and if Hermann was honest, he usually went for people who did not spend as much time thinking about things as he did — when dating, he had enough difficulty overthinking without his partners picking his thoughts the way Newton did. And yet… Newton’s grin never failed to give him pause, and the idea of working with anyone else in this tiny space was repugnant to him. But this… Hermann realised that there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to make Newt smile again. In a way, he’d always known, from the moment he’d read their papers, that Newton Geizsler was someone special.

Newton moved to step back, and Hermann dropped his arm to give his partner (lab partner, colleague, friend) space, thoughts whizzing through the many scenarios that could follow if he ever gave word to the realisation he just had. He quickly came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do; with someone like Newt; with emotions like these; there were too many unknowns. Which is why when Newton asked, “Hey, Herms… can we go for a walk?” He replied, in the most measured voice he could muster, “You know I don’t approve of that nickname, Newton. But I’ll walk with you for a bit, if you like. Not very far though,” he added, with a gesture to his cane. It had been a long day, and he needed to reserve some energy for the trip home.

Walking always calmed Newt down. As they walked down to a nearby café, they couldn’t stop themself from telling the whole story — how the new science division of the Jaeger Corps had reached out to them; how they wanted information about the dragons at the sanctuary, wanted to see them. “They’re going to study their weaknesses, Hermann! That’s what the university hired me for in the first place! I got called to the dean’s office when I refused them, can you believe that? But if I don’t do it, they’ll just hire someone else — and what if they hurt the dragons?” Hermann let them talk, but Newt could tell that he wasn’t indifferent: he carried himself with the attitude he had at lectures, or when he was particularly certain Newt was wrong about something; a posture Newt recognised as determination and frustration, but it quickly became clear that this was aimed at the powers that be, rather than themself.

“Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a chair at a table in front of the café, ever the gentleman. “I’ll order some tea. And then we can work out how to deal with those Jaeger bastards.” Newt rolled their eyes.

“I’d rather come with you,” Newt dumped their jacket on the chair to claim the spot.

“I’m buying,” Hermann replied, eyeing Newt as though waiting for them to disagree. His loss, Newt never said no to free drinks. “Can I have coffee instead of your leaf juice?”

“Is your bean juice so superior to my leaf juice?” Nevertheless, Hermann ordered jasmine tea for himself and filtered coffee with sugar for Newt, who grinned when they realised Hermann knew their order. Hermann paid, true to his word, and Newt carried their drinks back to the table.

A few weeks later, Newt received a letter of apology from the dean, and an encouragement to keep up the good work. Hermann had said he would make some calls, reach out to some connections; but Newt couldn’t for a second imagine who could make the dean apologise to them. They figured it could not have been easy for Hermann to go back to the Corps. Though they didn’t know the details of Hermann’s termination, knowing Hermann’s stubborn nature, they guessed it hadn’t been pretty. Did that mean he cared about Newt? Or just about justice? There was really only one way to find out. Well there were several ways; but there was only one super cool way to do it. Also, they wanted to show Hermann the dragons. As a thank you. So the next day saw Newt and Hermann trekking up the path to the Sanctuary. They had to stop twice, and Newt used the opportunity to talk about the vistas, the nature reserve, their work with injured dragons and how their team tried to keep the creatures busy until a Rift opened.

As the inner gates swung open ahead of them, Newt held out their arm, perhaps a little too theatrically. Hermann raised an eyebrow, but took it nonetheless. Pleased and a bit flustered, Newt looked down noticed that today they were both wearing light blue nail polish. They fluttered their fingers and winked.

“One of us is going to have to change.”

“Yours are chipped, it’s definitely you,” Hermann replied primly, without letting go of Newt’s arm. Newt continued the tour, noticing Hermann relaxing more and more as they entered deeper into the park without being attacked by big scary monsters. Most of the dragons were asleep this time of day, but one flew lazy circles in the sky, a relatively small one with red scales and black markings. They got to a small enclosure, and Newt rapped out a pincode.

“They’re all tagged, so we can let them in here one at a time and keep the others out; it’s nifty engineering — Mako’s, not mine. But anyway, here’s what I wanted to show you.” They shooed Hermann towards the folding chairs that they’d set out the day before, and set out a big flask of tea and reusable plastic cups. Then they let out a piercing whistle. The black and red dragon hurtled down, hovering for a moment before landing. She was about as tall as Newt was, and only gave Hermann a cursory glance before settling down near Newt’s feet, looking up expectantly. Newt tossed her a leg of cured ham and took on a somewhat more serious tone.

“Otachi here’s been with us for a while. She’s pretty tame — or rather, she knows me and respects the people I bring in here. Do what I do and you’ll be fine.” Hermann stared at Newt, wide-eyed, as they scratched the dragon’s head. Then he collected himself and shuffled his chair a little closer.

“She’s beautiful,” he breathed, hands folded onto his lap, as though trying to hold himself back. The dragon raised her head and looked at him with intelligent golden eyes. Newt nodded.

“She is…I’ve also discovered that she has a very interesting ability. All of the dragons here have some degree of telepathic communication. But Otachi is one of the few who can also communicate with us…and help us communicate between ourselves. It’s absolutely amazing and of course I have no idea how it works but you should have seen — well anyway, um, that’s not why I brought you here. Or…it kinda is. I mean, I wanted to say thank you. I don’t know what it is you did, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but, well you saw the letter so you know it worked. And what Otachi does exactly, is transfer emotional responses between people. And not a lot of people get to touch a dragon, so like…that’s a cool thank you gift, but also, I wanted to make sure that you understand exactly what I mean, when I say that. Thank you. You know?”

Newt was rambling - unsure how to stop. Hermann reached out and touched their hand, glancing over at Otachi and then back at Newt, locking eyes with theirs. He smiled, excited and shy (“See? Adorable!” Newt’s thoughts interrupted their train of thought).

“Show me, Newton.” Dozens of scenarios playing out in his mind, Hermann’s whole arm tingled at the touch with Newton’s skin. He could not contain his smile at the wonder of it all. Newt, adorable and messy — of course they knocked over their tea trying to explain what to do, how you could transmit communications by touching some kind of polarised spot beneath Otachi’s chin; and receive by touching any part of her. They took Hermann’s clammy hand, and he grimaced, because of course Newt would notice.

“I get sweaty too when I’m nervous, see?” It was wonderfully awkward when Newt patted Hermann’s cheek, making the sticky noise of clammy hands. Newt put Hermann’s hand on the dragon’s snout. “She really likes scratches here,” they mumbled, biting their lip. “Okay so before I show you the thing, I don’t want to make things awkward. Or like… more awkward. So I’m just going to let you know that you’re going to get an info dump of my gratitude for the last decade together and you can do with that information what you will.” Hermann nodded, transfixed by the dry smoothness of Otachi’s skin, which he was obediently scratching. She closed her eyes and seems to purr in contentment.

And then.

It’s a jumble at first. Newt, age three reading about dragons, and then their absolute wonder when they came into the world three years later. Not understanding why humans would attack them. Newt finishing a master’s degree at 16, a prodigy, always alone. Newt finding time to go to protests between writing papers and doctors appointments. There are friends here, but while they understand their social life, they can never understand the fascination, the drive to create and learn. But then, someone does: Hermann standing in the doorway, looking somewhat lost; and of course Newt has goop on their hands, and of course Hermann has nice nails, and is he seriously going to use that blackboard? A lot of shots of Herman at the blackboard; Hermann setting out a cup of tea for Newt every afternoon; and learning their coffee order so there’s a sweet mess waiting for them whenever they come in late from feeding times. Embarrassment, at being caught staring at Hermann’s lips and having to come up with a snarky excuse; the endless sparring that followed. And then, surprisingly, Hermann, crossword puzzle by his side, looking up at the castle. Newt with binoculars and a heart so full of something Hermann recognised with a jolt. That fateful day two weeks ago, a hug that said more than any words could.

Hermann opened his eyes, just realising he’d closed them. Newt had their head in their hands; afraid to look, maybe. Hermann reached over, caught their hands in his; biting back a smile at the clamminess. “Thank you, Newt. For your honesty.” Newt looked up, ready to pull away, ready for rejection. Hermann tried to hold their gaze, tried to find a way to communicate how he felt. He stroked the back of Newt’s hands, struggling to put his emotions into words.

“For my part, several things have happened the past few months that I am not entirely ready to share this way yet. I promise I will, one day. Until then, could you accept this as an honest reply?” He leaned in a bit closer, hoping Newt will understand. They mirrored his movement, tightening their grip on Hermann’s hands. “I would like to kiss you, very much,” Hermann’s voice is barely a whisper. Newt’s nervous expression breaks into a grin.

“Finally, he gets the hint.”

Hermann always thought he was bad at the things he couldn’t measure or count; but kissing Newton was unquantifiable; and it felt pretty damn good.


End file.
